I wear a suit now

Flame retardant but hardly fireproof
I wear layers to conceal and 
construct new features
Old shapes distort after
eating disorders fade from the front row of the audience 
Sometimes I stand centre stage 
and squint through the blazing theatre lights
just to wave
at the girl in the last row
She’s underweight and more tanned than me
She’s got long hair, too much eyeliner and 
not enough confidence 
I’ve seen her wear a one piece bathing suit at five foot four and forty-six kilos 
I’ve seen girls coo with jealousy over her body 
I’ve seen her starve herself;
they haven’t 
I like to familiarise myself with layers 
pretend they hold the weight of my curves
So when the scale reads fifty-eight I can laugh it off and say, 
“Damn, these Docs must weigh at least one and a half kilos
and all these layers! I probably only weigh fifty-two”
And that’s a lie

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